


And You're Miles and Miles From Your Safe Warm Bed

by chromyrose



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Best Friends, Birthday, Canon Compliant, First Meetings, Five Times, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Male Friendship, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre-Canon, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9596999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromyrose/pseuds/chromyrose
Summary: Five times Phichit and Yuuri shared a bed as roommates.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ried (riiiied)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riiiied/gifts).



> I was inspired to explore the development of Phichit and Yuuri's friendship as it grew from when they first met to when Yuuri left the US for Japan -- for the purposes of this fic, I assume that they spent the entirety of Yuuri's five years in America living together. Using the idea of them sharing a bed as a framing device, it was fun to think up circumstances why two people whose beds are right near each other's would have to share one. But in the end, somehow the bed sharing wasn't even the focus of the fic at all, oops. 
> 
> The title comes from the legendary best friend song, "You've Got a Friend in Me."

The last time Yuuri had had to share a bedroom was when he was fourteen. Mari was twenty, and the weight of the snow that accumulated on the roof of their home caused cracks, and inevitably leaks, in the ceiling of her attic bedroom. They made for terrible roommates. 

Despite how much they loved one another, their personalities clashed in ugly ways when the pair of them were stuck in such close quarters. Mari vehemently denied that she snored like a tractor, so she didn't appreciate or use the nose strips Yuuri got her. After three nights of compromised sleep, Yuuri set his phone to record video of her all night, much to her mortification; too smart to touch his skating gear, Mari swapped the leggings in his ballet bag for an old pair of her own with holes in both knees and a tear down the seat. And when Yuuri retaliated for all of his good clothes smelling like cigarettes by hiding the rest of her packs, she drawled “Goodnight”s to every single image of Viktor in Yuuri’s bedroom, at length, until he returned them four days later – only after she began to identify the posters by how they rated on a scale of kinkiness. 

“Thank goodness you two aren’t twins,” Hiroko had said affectionately, sipping her tea as they glared at one another silently over breakfast one morning. “I don’t think my uterus would have endured.” 

\--

Four years later, Yuuri gets off of a plane in the United States, and in the laundry list of things he has to be anxious about (including language barriers, gang violence, homesickness, and American food) he’d forgotten to consider the possibility of a roommate. But there is a boy waiting with Coach Celestino in the Arrivals area, with a hundred-watt grin and a heavily accented, “You are Yuuri! It is very nice to meet you!”

Phichit Chulanont is a skater too, from Thailand, and he’s only fifteen to Yuuri’s eighteen. He’s a firecracker on the ice, Yuuri concludes the first time he sees him skate; he doesn’t have much stamina, nor does he land very many combination jumps, but there’s a charming aura he gives off that makes it hard to take your eyes off him while he’s zipping and dancing on his blades. And, as a contradiction to everything Yuuri has seen in every other skater he's ever watched, Phichit is somehow more charming and larger-than-life when he's off the ice. He's sunshine personified, from his bronzed skin to his face-spanning smile to the literal warmth he exudes. It only takes three months before Yuuri realizes that Phichit has become one of the few people he is completely at ease around.

That’s why Yuuri’s stomach drops when he wakes up in the middle of the night to a wretched sob coming from the other bed. At first, when he’s in the blurred space between conscious and subconscious, he thinks it might have been something from his own dream, but the flurry of anxious Thai muttering is something his imagination could not invent, not in a voice that’s small and cracking with pubescence. 

“Phichit-kun?” Yuuri calls as he pulls his glasses on; blurriness only makes the dark of night harder to navigate, and they have to keep the lights off and blinds shut tight so the hamsters don’t stay up and make noise throughout the night. 

When his eyes adjust enough, Yuuri sees Phichit struggling against a tangled blanket that’s holding his arm back, with tear stains down his cheeks and sweat on his brow. The frantic Thai hasn’t stopped, but it has simmered down into vaguely distressed murmurs. The closest Yuuri has ever been to someone having a nightmare was back when Vicchan was a puppy, and all he'd needed to do then was pet him and reassure him he wasn’t alone. 

Shyly, Yuuri touches Phichit’s free shoulder with the intent to comfort him, but the touch makes Phichit writhe and struggle harder. 

“Phichit-kun!” Yuuri hisses at him, now holding his body as he tries to unwind the blanket before Phichit really hurts himself. “Phichit-kun, wake up!” 

He pulls the blanket out from under Phichit’s body, where his hips had it pinned to the mattress, and perhaps it’s the roughness of the act that makes Phichit snap upright with a yelp. Yuuri takes half a step back to give him space, and watches Phichit blink owlishly at his hands before he reaches up to wipe the sweat off his forehead with the heel of his palm. 

“Are… Are you okay?” Yuuri asks quietly, realizing how frantic his own pulse had become now that it was calming down again. Phichit looks up from what he was doing, hands frozen in the air, and somehow he smiles. 

“It was just a nightmare,” he says, and it seems like he’s aiming for flippancy, but Yuuri isn’t convinced. He’s still a bit shy about touching Phichit (not that Phichit is at all shy about touching him) so his hand is slow to come up to his friend’s jaw, which is shaking minutely. He can definitely feel it, even though he can’t see it. 

“Do you get nightmares a lot?” 

The shadows along Phichit’s throat show the way his Adam’s apple works as he swallows hard. Yuuri makes a mental note to get him some water.

“Sometimes,” Phichit murmurs somewhat guiltily. “When I pretend to feel better than I actually feel, and the bad feelings need to come out, I get nightmares.” 

“Phichit,” Yuuri breathes, feeling more than a little guilty himself. “What is wrong?” 

Phichit’s shoulders come up by his ears. “Normal things. Homesickness and stress. My sister became six two days ago and my mom sent me all the photographs they took; she is missing a tooth now. I miss them. But if I cannot handle this, I will never be a professional athlete. It is not supposed to be easy.” 

Yuuri wants to tell Phichit that he’s not alone, that he feels the same way, that he wants to make Phichit as happy as Phichit makes him, but Phichit interrupts before he can say anything. 

“You are so strong, Yuuri. You have been working hard every since you got here. You are so serious in class, and when we go to the rink you are 100% focus. I am pretty sure Ciao Ciao loves you way more than me.” 

The floor could fall right out from under Yuuri’s feet and he wouldn’t notice for how dumbfounded he feels. His mouth starts moving automatically, revealing everything he had kept close to his chest for the last two months. 

“Are you joking? Phichit-kun, you are the one… you are amazing! You take care of me so much, like with getting lunch, and you take care of the hamsters, and you make everyone laugh, and Celes—C-Ciao Ciao-san adores you! I am quiet because I am… scared? No, anxiety… Anxious! And I cry a lot of nights, after you go to sleep, or in the shower.” 

Phichit’s expression is hard to read, even though Yuuri’s eyes have fully acclimated to the lack of light. He’s so focused trying to make out if that’s a smile or a frown that it takes Yuuri by surprise when Phichit reaches out to hold his hand. 

“I know this is a weird question, and you can say no, but… ah, can you sleep with me tonight?” 

Yuuri feels heat in his cheeks almost immediately; the last time he shared a bed with anyone but his puppy was when he was a child himself, cuddled up to his mom, or at sleepovers with Yuuko-chan and Takeshi. They’re both old enough to know that sharing a bed now comes with _implications_ , and – 

And Phichit’s eyes are soft and scared, but he’s putting the choice in Yuuri’s hands. And this is Phichit, the sunshine boy who laughs candidly and who makes friends with everyone from their coach to their classmates to the older women who work as cashiers at the nearby international supermarket. The boy who pantomimed ice skating by shivering and then dancing around the narrow aisle when one of the ladies asked why they came to America but didn’t know enough English to understand their response. 

And, a small voice in the back of Yuuri’s head thinks, it would probably be really nice for him too, to feel that close to someone in a country of strangers. 

“Okay,” he agrees, and Phichit’s smile is unmistakable, his white teeth almost glowing in the dark. He shifts over and Yuuri settles on the mattress beside him; the bed is a twin, not meant for two teenage boy bodies to share, but Phichit folds himself neatly against Yuuri’s side and they fit. The blanket is large enough to accommodate them both, thankfully; one that Phichit brought with him from home because his grandmother worried about how cold Detroit would be compared to Bangkok. _’It is a warm blanket,’_ Yuuri thinks, his mind already easing back into sleep as he takes his glasses off again. _’Or maybe Phichit is warm. It’s nice.’_

\--

Phichit is a terrible influence, and Yuuri is never going to trust his advice again. 

For a person who seems so innocent, Phichit has an alarmingly devious mind. Fortunately, the most nefarious of his plans are only well-intentioned pranks, or embarrassing but affectionate nicknames, or a playful bending of the rules. He has a rebellious spirit, but he keeps it contained to harmless shenanigans.

Until the day he comes back from his high-school equivalency classes, the only part of the day he and Yuuri don’t spend together, with a poorly smothered grin and a backpack full of _something_ creating numerous pointed edges.

“Ciao Ciao cannot find out about this,” he whispers conspiratorially, as if Yuuri, who is working on a math assignment, or Honey, who is rolling around the floor in her hamster ball, will rush out to tattle. Yuuri puts his pencil down a bit warily, as Phichit sits on his bed and pulls his bag open. 

Snack cakes. The contraband that Phichit has smuggled into their room this time is an entire shelf’s worth of snack cakes, packaged in neat white boxes with tempting photographs and playful names. 

Yuuri blanches. “We can’t, Phichit-kun. Four Continents is only three weeks away. We’ve already started tapering our workouts!”

“We have to, Yuuri,” Phichit responds just as urgently, unwinding the scarf around his neck. “This company, Hostess, was trending on Twitter earlier – apparently they’re about to go bankrupt, and there are thousands of people tweeting about how amazing and nostalgic their cakes are—“ 

“–Nostalgic?” Yuuri interrupts. This is common between them, trading new English words they learn back and forth, and after a year of living together Yuuri has learned that interrupting Phichit is often necessary. Otherwise, he won’t remember his thought by the time his friend is actually done speaking.

“Oh, I had to look it up too. It means that something reminds you of the past in an emotional way? It’s like when you think about an old toy or book and it makes you happy because you used to love it, but also sad because you’re not young enough for it anymore.” 

Yuuri nods and guesses at the spelling of the word in the margin of his notebook, making a note to look it up later. Right now he’s distracted trying to pretend he’s not being seduced by the array of pastries on his bed. 

“Okay…?” 

“This one is the one most people were upset over losing,” Phichit says, picking up a box with the image of a vaguely tube-shaped yellow cake, cut in half to reveal a cream center. _Twinkies,_ the bubbly font reads. “I did some research—“ 

“For your history paper…?” Yuuri hopes, making Phichit laugh.

“—and these ones are an American classic! Apparently at some fairs and festivals and stuff they even sell them battered in dough and deep fried?”

“But it’s already a cake?” 

“I know! It’s crazy! The pictures all had whipped cream and chocolate sauce and sprinkles on it, too.”

Yuuri’s stomach hurts thinking about it, but he’s also aware that he’s salivating, which is fairly embarrassing. He grabs a box labeled “HoHos,” with swirls in the letter “O” that match the swirl of frosting in the chocolate roll cake, and reads the nutritional label the way Celestino taught him to. He gasps.

“Phichit-kun, this has _sixteen grams of fat_ in it! There’s no way I won’t get fat, even if I only eat one!”

“There’s less in the Twinkies,” Phichit responds with a grin. “Yuuri, seriously, you gain weight easily but not that easily. You’re in peak physical condition! Your abs can handle a Twinkie.” 

Yuuri blushes. Phichit, delighted by his reaction, pokes said ‘abs’ and then turns to the wall above Yuuri’s desk. “You agree that Yuuri will still be beautiful after a Twinkie, right Viktor? Just one each, and then we save the rest for the off-season.” He pauses, and then hums. “Viktor says it’s important to reward yourself.” 

“Stop talking to Viktor!” Yuuri screeches, covering his ears. It took a few months before he was willing to put up his posters for this exact reason. He started with a few of the smaller ones, the more professional ones, of Viktor on the ice mid-program, dazzling as always with his hair flowing behind him in a breezy ponytail that went on and on and on– 

And Phichit thought it was pretty cool, that Yuuri looked up to him so much; he even revealed that he had video clips of Viktor on his phone. So then some of the more private posters went up, too, from photo shoots and product endorsements.

Even the pin-up from a calendar of Russian athletes went up, after it fell out of its hiding place under Yuuri’s mattress and Phichit insisted on giving it a place of honor on the Wall. It was for charity, with all proceeds benefitting an animal sanctuary in Moscow, so Yuuri refused to feel ashamed for having it and couldn’t argue against Phichit putting it up. 

“Viktor says that he likes when you have some junk in the trunk, anyways.”

Yuuri’s screech is incomprehensible this time, and he claps his palm over Phichit’s mouth, feeling fire in his ears from how hard they’re blushing. Phichit is laughing into Yuuri’s hand. 

“Please stop!” Yuuri says desperately, as he reluctantly releases his roommate. “I get that it’s a creepy obsession, but don’t desecrate him because of me.” 

“You’re so silly, Yuuri. I think it’s a good thing! There are people online who get horny over cartoon animals.”

“I’m not talking about this with you,” Yuuri huffs, his hackles raised. “You’re sixteen, I’m not talking about perversions with you. You shouldn’t even know about this stuff.”

Phichit giggles in a way that reminds Yuuri of Vicchan’s happy barking. “Really? How old were you when you bought _Mister February_?” 

“I hate you. I’m asking Ciao Ciao for a new roommate. And I’m telling him what actually happened to his paisley handkerchief.” 

“If you really hated me, you wouldn’t have called him ‘Ciao Ciao.’ And I did him a favor; every lady he tried to flirt with thought he was gay because of that napkin!”

Yuuri picks up his pencil and resumes his calculus homework, talking himself through the problem out loud in Japanese. Just when he’s starting to feel smug that Phichit has gone quiet, a Twinkie is shoved into his open mouth. 

“P’ch’t-k’n!” He chews and swallows, then clarifies, “Phichit-kun! Why did you shove a Twinkie in my mouth?” 

“Shhh, not so loud. I didn’t shove a Twinkie in your mouth, I shoved _half_ a Twinkie in your mouth.” What’s left of the other half is presumably what Phichit has in his hand, as there’s a spot of white cream on his upper lip. 

Yuuri licks the roof of his mouth, the backs of his teeth. “It wasn’t even good,” he complains. “The frosting is kind of sticky, and the cake is too greasy.” 

“Yeah,” Phichit laments, looking down at the morsel in his hand with a tiny pout. Then he shoves it into his mouth anyways, and reaches back into the box. “Want another one?” 

“…Yes.”

 

They end up finishing the box, and hide the rest of the sweets from themselves in the back of their closet on the highest shelf. 

“Ugh,” Yuuri groans, lying face down on his bed. He hasn’t had that much sugar in one sitting since Takeshi’s 11th birthday, probably, and it was a shock to his stomach. “I hate you.” 

“At least we’ll die happy,” Phichit replies, similarly spread out on his bed, though he was on his back and staring at the ceiling. His voice is thick and lethargic. “We’ll ride a sponge cake cloud into the land of cream and sugar.” 

“I can’t die yet. I haven’t skated for Viktor,” he whines in response.

Phichit doesn’t say anything to that, and for a while, the only sound in the room is of Honey’s hamster ball repeatedly bumping into furniture and walls as she gets her exercise in. Yuuri closes his eyes and starts counting the number of thuds, until a much lighter one surprises him; a footfall. He opens his eyes in time to see the blurry shape of Phichit, hands over his mouth, running to the bathroom. 

 

Celestino knows exactly what they’ve done when Phichit can’t come down to practice because of his stomach ailment, and the look in his eyes promises murder even as he measures out the appropriate dose of pink medicine for them both. The next morning, both Yuuri and Phichit wake up with a stream of apologies on their tongues. Yuuri ends up all but kowtowing and Phichit shows off his saddest puppy-dog eyes, but Celestino is a firm, fair coach, so he isn’t going to be merciful. 

They spend 16 hours on the ice that day, not including bathroom breaks or meals, all of which they take at the rink. And despite the upcoming competition, they barely get to run their programs. Instead, there are hours devoted purely to drills: speed, height, combinations, spins, even an exercise Celestino invents to improve their reaction time after a fall, among others. When they finally do get to their programs, after everyone else has left for the day, whoever isn’t skating is doing stairs, running up and down the bleachers until it’s his turn on the ice.

At the end of the night, Celestino looks at them gravely, the mad twinkle in his eye from earlier in the day faded into something more somber. He gives them another talk about the importance of their diets, their health, and taking care of their bodies; Yuuri and Phichit both have heard it all before, from him and coaches prior, but they bow their heads and listen respectfully. When Celestino is done, he kisses both of their foreheads and sends them off to the dorms. 

They don’t have the energy to walk and talk at the same time, so it’s quiet on the way home. Phichit’s arms are so sore it takes his shaky hand three tries to get the key into the lock of their door. They kick their shoes off haphazardly in the entryway, and Yuuri barely remembers to close the door. 

Phichit is already lying in his bed when he gets there, still in his workout clothes. Yuuri bumps the mattress with his knees. 

“That’s mine.”

“It’s closer to the door,” Phichit whines. His eyes are already shut. “I can’t move another millimeter.”

Yuuri doesn’t want to move, either, and he shouldn’t have to — this is his bed. So he puts his glasses on his desk behind him and then drops onto the mattress inelegantly. For a minute there is squirming, as elbows and knees bump hips and thighs, but they manage to arrange themselves in a way they’re both comfortable. 

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Phichit asks, even though it’s already clear he has permission; Yuuri hasn’t pushed him onto the floor. 

“Yeah,” Yuuri murmurs anyways. His eyes are half lidded, but he can see enough to see how close Phichit is, to count his eyelashes, if he wanted to. He doesn’t particularly want to. He notices a spot near Phichit’s hairline, since his bangs have fallen aside. “’Didn’t know you had a mole on your forehead.” 

“It’s a birthmark,” Phichit says before he yawns. Yuuri is relieved that his breath is tolerable. “Goodnight, Yuuri.” 

“Goodnight, Phichit-kun.” 

\--

For Yuuri’s 21st birthday, Celestino gifts him a bottle of wine. The gift catches him entirely off-guard, and the confusion must show on his face, because his coach explains. 

“I do remember what it was like to be young, you know. Now that you’ve hit the legal drinking age for America, you might be tempted to go out, to experience the culture and see why it appeals to many people. Of course, it’s a bit different in Italy, since drinking is a very normal social activity there... but that is the case in Japan as well, isn’t it?” 

“Uh, yes,” Yuuri agrees, thinking about the shelves of beer and sake stocked in the back of his family’s inn. “But I don’t know if I’m inclined to drink, Celestino-san. My parents and sister aren’t very good at holding their alcohol…” 

Celestino rubs his chin as he considers this. “I know you’re a good kid, Yuuri. Except for your habit of negative thinking, you don’t do anything to jeopardize yourself. This is me giving you permission and saying it’s alright to cut loose for the night, celebrate your accomplishments and how far you’ve come. 

“And,” he continues with a new tone to his voice, “whether or not you’re inclined to go out and drink, there is someone in your room who is particularly persuasive and who enjoys pushing you out of your comfort zone...”

He trails off and lifts his eyebrows meaningfully. It’s no secret that Phichit is more excited about Yuuri’s 21st birthday than Yuuri himself is, and Yuuri’s pretty sure Phichit isn’t even after alcohol, but gossip. He shudders as he thinks about it, and in this light Celestino’s gift is much more thoughtful. 

“Thank you, Celestino-san,” he says as he bows, humbly accepting the gift. He doesn’t know much about wine, but this bottle feels expensive. When he looks up at his coach again, there’s a grin on his face tugging from ear to ear that reminds him of Phichit.

“Of course, Yuuri. Happy Birthday,” is the kind response, followed by a kiss on each cheek.

 

When Yuuri shuts the door behind him, he’s surprised by the quiet in their room until he remembers that Phichit’s in class for another half hour. He’s also surprised by the decorations, including a zigzag of streamers slashing across the ceiling, a mountain of balloons on Yuuri’s bed, and a custom construction-paper party hat for every Viktor on the Wall. Yuuri smothers laughter at the attention to detail, as most of the hats are color-coordinated to whatever Viktor is wearing in each poster. When he sees that they’re stuck on with sticky-tack that won’t damage the posters, he feels warmth bloom in his chest. 

A part of him wishes he could talk to his parents, but it’s just about sunrise the next morning in Hasetsu, and he doesn’t want to disturb their sleep; besides, he’d spent over an hour on Skype with them, Mari, and Minako-sensei the night before. Knowing that he won’t have peace once Phichit gets back, Yuuri decides to take a shower instead. He keeps the wine hidden in his bag, which he tucks under his bed in case Phichit gets home before he’s done. 

Twenty minutes later he’s pulling the bathroom door open, only to scream when Phichit’s face appears centimeters from his own. 

“GAH!” 

“Happy Birthday Yuuri!” 

“Phichit-kun!” He shouts, putting a hand over his rapidly beating heart to stop it from erupting out of his chest. “You know I hate jump scares!” 

Phichit has enough shame to look sheepish, at least. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I missed you a lot today.” 

Yuuri wishes it was easier to stay mad at Phichit, but his genuine tone and expression melt any annoyance away. It helps Phichit’s case that he is wearing a neon-green party hat that makes him look younger, softer, and much too endearing.

He must notice where Yuuri’s gaze has lingered, because Phichit drops a party hat on Yuuri’s wet hair, too, and pulls the itchy elastic string down over his chin. He has his phone in hand and takes a selfie of them both before Yuuri can do anything but look slightly dumbfounded. 

“You’re too enthusiastic for someone who isn’t even celebrating their birthday today,” Yuuri sighs. 

“I think a friend’s birthday is much more fun than my own,” Phichit explains, sitting on his own bed to let Yuuri into the room proper. “It’s nice to get attention, but I like making plans to show someone how much they mean to me a lot more. Speaking of plans…!”

Yuuri looks up from toweling off his hair, and even without his glasses he doesn’t need to squint to see the grin on Phichit’s face. 

“Katsudon…?” He guesses, getting excited. Once Phichit had learned of his favorite dish when they first moved in together, he made a point of researching local Japanese restaurants that had it on the menu and taking Yuuri there for special occasions. So far none of them quite matched up to the bowls his mother made, of course, but the small taste of home was always appreciated.

“Katsudon!” Phichit agrees brightly. “A new place opened on Washington Avenue and the reviews are pretty good, so I have high hopes for it.” 

Yuuri feels himself relax, his excitement over dinner soothing the concern over the wine bottle hidden under his bed. He can figure out what he’s going to do about it later. 

“Promise me you won’t tell the waiters it’s my birthday?” He asks Phichit as he goes through his drawer for a clean shirt that’s both warm enough for late November and not some kind of athletic wear. Phichit doesn’t answer right away, making Yuuri look up to frown at him. “Phichit.” 

“I make no such promises,” Phichit says, crossing his arms over his chest to make an ‘X.’ “You only let me spoil you one day a year, so I’m going to take every chance!” 

Yuuri groans and shakes his head. “I let you spoil me on Christmas too,” he huffs.

“Noooo,” Phichit laughs. “You put us both on a strict spending limit, and last year you made me show you the Ebay page for the auction I won to prove I didn’t go over it for those signed skate guards.” 

Yuuri has nothing to say to that, so he says nothing, and pulls a shirt over his head. Noises come from the other side of the room, of Phichit opening up the hamster cage and cooing at his pets in a mix of English and Thai endearments. He knows he’s lost this battle, if not the whole war, but it says a lot that he’s still smiling even when Phichit’s won. 

 

Yuuri immediately falls back on his bed when they return from dinner, a hand under his head and the other on his belly in immense satisfaction. 

“That’s been the best one yet,” he sighs happily, as Phichit moves around the room to put his phone on the charger and then collapse on his adjacent bed. 

“You say that every year.” 

“It’s true every year,” Yuuri hums. “Or maybe I just miss my mom’s cooking more every year.” 

“Maybe next year I’ll ask her for the recipe in advance and try to make it myself,” Phichit suggests with his eyes full of mirth. Yuuri laughs along with him, and nuzzles into his pillow.

“Are you going to sleep? It’s only 6:30, and it’s your birthday, and you haven’t even gone out yet!” 

“We just came back from out,” Yuuri reminds him, trying to hold on to the contented feeling he’d just been full of. 

“You know what I mean. _Out_ out! You’re twenty-one, you’re insanely cute, and you’ve been cooped up in this room for the last three years. Go have _fun_.”

Yuuri hopes Phichit doesn’t call him out for blushing, because he’s trying very hard to pretend he’s not. “I’m not cute,” he huffs. “And I’m positive I can have more fun here than at any… you know. I don’t belong there.”

“Bar? Club? They’re not bad words, Yuuri,” Phichit laughs. “You would totally belong there. I bet people would be fighting to get the birthday boy’s attention, buy him some drinks. Maybe you’ll even meet a handsome blue-eyed blond guy…” 

He trails off, and his eyes flit to the Wall just long enough that Yuuri is intended to notice. Yuuri buries a hot cheek into his pillow. 

“You’re the worst.”

There is a moment of quiet in the room, and then Phichit says in a low voice, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. I just think… it really can’t be that much fun being cooped up in the same room every day with the same face for company.” 

“…Do you think that way?” Yuuri asks, and then he clarifies, “Do you get bored being 'cooped up' with just me?” He’s lifted his head from the pillow, and the comforting fullness of his belly is starting to feel like a stone instead. 

Fortunately, Phichit is quick to nip that thought in the bud. “No!” He says, so forcefully that he stomps his foot on the ground for emphasis. “Never. I love your company, Yuuri. You’re… you’re my best friend and kind-of older brother wrapped up in one person. I love you.” 

Pretending again that his cheeks aren’t turning pink, even though he can feel the heat in them, Yuuri raises both of his eyebrows. Phichit sighs. 

“I just thought maybe you’d be tired of hanging out with an overexcited kid.”

 _‘He looks small,’_ Yuuri thinks, sitting up on his knees. He notices the way Phichit’s shoulders are pulled in, his head drooped. He’s seventeen, a year younger than Yuuri was when he’d moved away from his family. It’s easy to forget how young Phichit is, given how capable and self-reliant he can be. 

“That’s stupid,” Yuuri insists. “I’m sorry if I ever gave you a reason to feel that way, but… you’re my best friend, too.” 

After a moment of stillness, the corner of Phichit’s mouth crooks upwards; after that, he goes off like an explosive, growing back to his usual size and posture, his sunshine aura filling their room. He runs a hand through his sleek black hair, then places the abandoned green party hat back on his head. He grabs something small and wrapped out of the drawer of his nightstand, then leaps from his bed onto Yuuri’s. 

“I know that dinner was technically your present, and the gloves, but I also have another present for you.” 

“Phichit!” 

He laughs and presses the small box into Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri unwraps the gift somewhat hesitantly, and is bemused to find a corkscrew. 

“Uh…”

“It’s for the bottle of wine Ciao Ciao got you,” Phichit explains, grinning smugly. Yuuri looks alarmed, and glances around the room quickly, concerned he left it in plain sight. But no, it’s still under the bed. 

“How did you know about that?” 

“Ciao Ciao _wishes_ he could keep a secret from me! I overheard him telling Cara about it like a week ago. So, where is it?” 

Yuuri sighs and leans over the side of his bed to pull his bag out and procure the bottle. 

“I’m guessing you want a sip…” He trails off, a little nervous about doing anything of dubious legality. Phichit’s not of age here, or in Japan, or even in Thailand. 

Phichit’s smile is a bit chagrined, but his tone is calm. “Yes, but I would never ask you to do something you’re morally opposed to doing just because I want something.”

“I’m not morally opposed,” Yuuri explains, eyeing the bottle with a small frown. “I think you work as hard as I do, and you’re mature, and you can be trusted not to get carried away… most of the time. And my parents let me drink when I was seventeen, sometimes.”

Phichit puts his hands up. “It’s up to you.” 

Yuuri hates having the decision in his hands, but he hates the idea of drinking any of this alone, especially if Phichit is stuck watching. If Celestino-san had really thought this through, he would have taken Yuuri out somewhere himself, instead of putting the alcohol in his hands. 

Or maybe Celestino-san did think this through, and this was part of his intentions. 

Decision made, Yuuri goes to the small kitchenette area of their room and takes out a pair of drinking cups. They’re small and plastic, meant for water or juice, but they’re the best they’ve got. He fills each one a little less than halfway, probably just a few sips, ideally not enough to get either of them drunk, and reseals the bottle. 

Phichit’s still sitting on Yuuri’s bed, and takes one of the cups so there’s less for Yuuri to balance as he gets situated beside him. Once he’s settled, Phichit holds out his cup and whispers. 

“To the birthday boy!” 

They tap their cups together, and then sip; fortunately, it seems that Phichit knows better than to swig. He makes a face at Yuuri. 

“Don’t look so surprised. I’ve told you about my grandmother, right?” 

“She let you drink?” Yuuri gapes. “You got here when you were _fifteen_.”

“I know,” Phichit responds amidst his laughter. “I cheekily asked her if I could have some of her _Saeng Som_ , she cheekily said yes, and I drank too much at once and choked.” 

“What did your parents say?” Yuuri wonders, his head tilted. He’d only met one of his grandparents, and only when he was very young, but he couldn’t imagine his father’s strict mother ever allowing him to indulge. 

“They laughed, then asked my sister to show me how to drink out of a cup ‘like a big boy’.” He chuckles, looking down at his drink and then back up at Yuuri with a small smile. The word _nostalgia_ comes to mind. 

Yuuri takes a sip from his cup, and lets the taste linger in his mouth. It’s his first time tasting any sort of wine, and it’s sweeter than beer, which makes it more dangerous, in his opinion. When he swallows, his mouth and teeth feel as if they’ve been coated with a thin film of it, but not unpleasantly.

“What about you? Yuuri?” 

“Huh?” Yuuri blinks, realizing he’d zoned out. He’s starting to feel warm, a little sleepy, even.

“When was the first time your parents let you drink?” 

“Oh,” he murmurs, his eyes falling shut as he thinks back. “When I placed gold at Nationals… so I was sixteen, I guess? After we got home, they had a big party for me. It felt like the whole town was crammed in our tiny inn. And Mari-neechan came up with the idea, of course. I thought my parents were going to say no, but instead Mom was pouring me a glass of beer and Dad was holding up his camera…” 

Yuuri laughs, and a moment later Phichit is laughing with him. Yuuri shifts back on the bed, until he can lean up against the headboard. His muscles are all relaxed, and the smile won’t leave his face. He’s pressed up next to Phichit now, side by side, and his shoulder is getting even warmer than the rest of him from the contact; Phichit has always run warm compared to Yuuri. 

“I can’t wait to meet your family someday,” Phichit murmurs. Yuuri looks down at his glass and sees that he’s downed about half of his allotted wine. He looks at Phichit, who smiles back, though his radiance is less fireworks and more sunshine at the moment. “Something tells me P’Mari and I will get along well.” 

“You already do, over Skype. She likes you.” 

“She does?”

“My whole family does,” Yuuri promises. “They’d love anyone who takes as much care of me as you do, but it helps that it’s you, specifically.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Phichit’s quizzical stare is intense, and it makes Yuuri take another little sip to loosen his tongue. Then he drags his thumb along the rim of the cup. 

“You’re really… patient. And optimistic. And you always seem to know what the right thing to say is, when I’m… panicking. I don’t talk about my anxiety much but it’s always there. And most people, they just say the normal things to say. ‘Calm down,’ or ‘It’s not that serious.’ But I can’t just turn it off, and then some people get impatient, or agitated, and I only feel worse…” 

Yuuri swallows past a lump in his throat; his voice has gotten so tight it’s impossible to keep speaking. Phichit’s hand comes to his shoulder and offers a tight squeeze, and Yuuri feels his throat relax.

“See?” He whispers, nudging Phichit’s foot with his own. Phichit squeals, because Yuuri’s feet are colder than his by degrees. “You’re doing it right now.” 

“What am I doing?” Phichit asks again, but instead of looking confused, this time he’s got a smug, barely concealed grin. Yuuri has half a mind to smack his arm, but he’s still a little emotional, and he blames the wine. 

“Being patient,” he answers honestly. “Diverting my attention from the thing that’s making me upset. Making me laugh.” 

Phichit’s grin grows from ‘barely concealed’ to ‘face splitting.’ “In my elementary school there was this boy who cried every day during our free time, when all the other kids were rushing to grab toys or puzzles or books. He’d just sit down in a corner and wail into his knees. And at first all the adults coddled him, and cooed at him, and tried to figure out what was wrong. But after a few days they just sort of stopped doing that. I guess they thought he was a lost cause. That he was going to cry no matter what they did, so they’d just let him?

“But it really bothered me, for some reason. Looking back I guess I just wasn’t used to being around crying people? My sister hadn’t been born yet, and I wasn’t really much of a crier.”

“I could have guessed that,” Yuuri teases, and Phichit laughs. 

“Yeah, I haven’t really changed much since then! But so then, I guess maybe it felt wrong to me that this kid was just crying all the time. So I went and talked to him and told him he shouldn’t be sad, and all that stuff. And then he just cried more, and my teachers told me to let him be… I must have made things worse for them. But I still couldn’t really give up on him, so I started taking a book or my crayons and sitting next to him in the corner and doing my activity. And I think it just sort of shocked him, because he stopped. So I felt proud of myself and did it every day until he finally started coloring with me, and then we were best friends.” 

Phichit’s looking down into his cup and smiling crookedly, and Yuuri echoes his smile, inside and out. 

“So you’re saying you learned the hard way how to handle a crybaby.” 

“I never called you that,” he laughs, elbowing Yuuri in the playfully in the ribs. 

“But it was strongly implied,” Yuuri counters, elbowing Phichit back. Being as ticklish as he is, Phichit just laughs harder. 

Yuuri doesn’t know when their cups became empty; all he knows is that they end up on his desk, out of the way of the ensuing tickle-slash-pillow fight. They exhaust themselves, pouncing on one another and using all of their years of expensive and intense physical training to wrestle playfully on Yuuri’s mattress. Yuuri wins when Phichit rolls off his bed and onto the floor with a thump. 

There’s an answering thump from the floor, as their neighbor downstairs hits her ceiling with a broom. Phichit and Yuuri exchange a look, then stifle their simultaneous giggles. Yuuri offers a hand, and Phichit takes it to help himself get back to his feet. 

“You are brutal, Yuuri Katsuki,” Phichit declares, flopping down beside him again. “I will never underestimate your power again.” 

“Good,” Yuuri preens, flushed with success and alcohol. His face is centimeters away from Phichit’s, and he can smell the wine on both of their breaths mingling in the space between them. 

Phichit’s arm becomes a warm weight across his back. “Happy birthday, Yuuri,” he murmurs, eyelids fluttering shut as he speaks. Yuuri realizes that he’s tired, too, and that Phichit is so warm against him they don’t even need to go under the comforter. “I hope it was good,” he adds after a yawn, his voice a breathless whisper.

“It was,” Yuuri whispers back just as softly. “Thanks to you, Phichit.” He yawns. “Goodnight.” 

“Good... night...”

\--

By the time their connecting flight back to Detroit lands in the city’s airport, Yuuri and Celestino are both zombies. A stressful competition season that culminated in a humiliating defeat led Yuuri to a night of reckless drinking, so much so that he’s not sure how much he alcohol he actually had, how he made it back to his hotel room, or even how they got to the airport in Sochi. Celestino was equally as hungover, which made him irritable and snappy, the perfect travel companion for a trip that took close to 24 hours. 

He’s not thinking clearly, after the tumult of the past three days, so he’s again surprised to see Phichit waiting for them at Arrivals, this time with an assistant coach, Cara. Phichit’s holding up a lovingly handmade sign that reads, “Welcome Home Our Grand Prix Finalist!” Yuuri’s eyes burn, even though he’s all cried out. 

His reaction must not go unnoticed, because when they get out to the car, the sign has disappeared. Cara drives, and her gaze keeps darting to Yuuri in the rearview mirror. He’s sick of the pity in her gaze, and lets his eyes fall shut. Perhaps Phichit assumes Yuuri wants to sleep, because he gently nudges his head onto his shoulder; Yuuri doesn’t correct him, and gratefully rests against his friend, the familiarity of his smell clearing a lot of the fog in Yuuri’s head. 

It must kill Phichit to be so patient, but he doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t say anything that requires more than a hum from Yuuri in response, even well after they get back to their room. Yuuri takes a long shower, and when he’s done, there’s dinner on his desk, and Phichit is sitting on his own bed doing homework. Yuuri smiles gratefully at him, sits down to eat, and then sees it – the Wall. 

He stills, replaying the encounter with Viktor in his mind; the plastic smile he was given at the Iceberg Skating Palace is staring down at him from every poster he owns. With shaking hands, he reaches for the nearest poster and delicately peels it away from the wall. He takes the tape off the back, and allows the poster to float down onto his bed. 

Apparently, that’s the limit of Phichit’s ability to bite his tongue on his curiosity. 

“Did something happen with Viktor?” He asks with a gasp so wretched that Yuuri turns around immediately. Phichit looks more afraid in this moment than he ever has watching a horror film. “Did he say something about your skating? If he did, I’ll—“ 

“No,” Yuuri interrupts, though part of him does want to hear Phichit threaten Viktor. It’s just not worth his friend becoming agitated, especially because it’s not the case. “He didn’t… he didn’t say anything about my skating. We were leaving the rink, and the Russian group passed us, and he looked right at me and asked if I wanted an autograph…?”

“No!” Phichit gasps, and it’s so dramatic that Yuuri immediately wants to laugh. He has his hands clasped over his mouth, and his eyebrows have melded with his hairline. Yuuri shrugs a little sheepishly, and nods.

“Yeah. He didn’t recognize me as another skater. Though that might be for the best, since I failed so miserably…” 

Phichit shoves his books out of his lap, and stomps over to Yuuri’s side. He grabs Yuuri’s face and squeezes his cheeks together.

“Don’t you dare, Yuuri Katsuki!” He huffs. “You made it all the way to the top. You’re the sixth best skater in the world, so I don’t want to hear it.” 

Yuuri’s lips are smushed into a pout, so he has to convey his annoyance by furrowing his brows. 

“You skated incredibly,” Phichit insists, his voice kinder now, but just as firm as before. He lets go of Yuuri’s face. “Every skater has a bad day. And you had a good reason for yours.” 

Yuuri’s eyes dart to the framed picture of his family he keeps on his desk, and his heart _aches_ when he sees Vicchan cradled in his arms. Phichit squeezes his shoulder, and then guides Yuuri into his chair.

“You haven’t eaten anything other than airplane food in days, so I won’t even apologize for my mediocre cooking this time.” 

“Phichit—“ 

“Shh. Eat,” Phichit commands, and then he goes around to the opposite side of the desk and very meticulously starts unsticking the next poster from the Wall. Yuuri is rapt as he watches, and realizes when the poster is off in one piece and free of its tape that he’d been holding his breath. Phichit offers a grin as he holds it up, and lays it over the one Yuuri had already removed. 

They sit in that silence for a while, with Yuuri eating and Phichit slowly taking down all of the posters and images that Yuuri has put up over the last five years. When he’s done, the heap is all over Yuuri’s mattress, and Yuuri sighs and rubs his cheek as he looks it over.

“I’ll need to get a portfolio book or something to store them in…” he muses and then purses his lips. He doesn’t have a place to put them now, and even though he’s hurt about everything that happened in Russia, he doesn’t want to get rid of the posters entirely. Even placing them on the floor seems disrespectful, somehow. 

“Sleepover in my bed tonight?” Phichit offers cheerfully, already clearing his books away. Yuuri is momentarily confused, and then notices the clock: 11:04.

“Oh geez, Phichit, why didn’t you tell me it was so late? Don’t you have class tomorrow morning?” 

From where he’s pulling the blanket over the hamster cage to quiet his pets down for the night, Phichit shakes his head. “Yeah, but you’re more important than that. It’s just class, and it's with the professor who spits when she talks.” 

Yuuri still has no idea how Phichit does it, how he makes him laugh when Yuuri has no intention of laughing or even when he’s positive he _can’t_. It’s less of a laugh and more of an amused exhale, but his entire body melts with it, the tension escaping his shoulders and leaving his expression. Hesitantly, he gets to his feet and comes up behind Phichit to give him a loose, nervous hug. 

Phichit looks over his shoulder with a sideways smile. “If I question this, will it stop?”

“Probably,” Yuuri admits softly, speaking into his friend’s hair. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” is the gentle response. “Get in bed, and I’ll get the lights.” 

A few minutes later, after they’re situated and the room is silent but for the noises of life outside, Yuuri confesses, “I’m moving back to Japan.” 

He feels Phichit’s sharp breath, senses the question on his friend’s tongue, and spares him the struggle of asking it. He adds, “I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to skate next season.” 

“I hope you stay,” Phichit murmurs back. “But I won’t love you any less if you don’t.” 

“How do you always know what to say?” 

“I don’t always… but I dunno. Everything seems easier when I’m around you. You let me be myself.” 

“Phichit…” 

“I’m gonna miss you a _lot_ , Yuuri. You’d better start using the Instagram account I made you.” 

“Do I have to? Can’t we just FaceTime?” 

“ _¿ Porque no los dos?_ ” Phichit recites in heavily accented Spanish, laughing at his own reference. Yuuri groans as he’s reminded of the two week period when that was Phichit’s catchphrase. 

When Phichit’s giggles fade out, Yuuri licks his lips. “I’ll miss you too, Phichit.” 

“Don’t worry, Yuuri,” he murmurs gently, touching Yuuri’s arm as his eyes drift shut. If there's a reason Yuuri shouldn't be worried, he doesn't find out, because a moment later Phichit's breathing evens out and he's fast asleep. 

\--

 

The last night Yuuri spends in the US arrives too soon. Packing takes almost a week, longer than he remembers unpacking taking. He realizes how much more he's amassed living here, how many tokens of his temporary home are about to be relocated to his childhood bedroom, and some part of his chest aches with how empty the room looks without his things. 

When he comes out of the shower in pajamas, with a towel draped over his head, Yuuri finds the two beds pressed up against each other. Phichit's under his thick blanket, the one his grandmother sent over recently in a care package so large Yuuri's afraid to imagine the shipping cost. He's tapping at something on this phone, and when Yuuri pulls the door shut behind him, he smiles over the top of his screen. 

Wordlessly Yuuri consents to this, and part of him wonders why it hadn't occurred to them sooner, on any of the other nights they had slept side-by-side. They've both grown so much since they first met, five years of puberty taking its toll on their athletic bodies, and the last time they shared a bed Phichit had basically slept on Yuuri's chest. 

Yuuri gets into bed and buries himself in Phichit's thick blanket, the heaviness of it on his body not enough to combat the tightness in his chest, the way his ribs feel like they're a vise around his heart and lungs. 

The lamp on Phichit's side table clicks off, and he puts his phone aside, too. When he lies down, he's facing Yuuri. 

“Are you scared?” He murmurs into the dark space between them, his voice full of light.

“Terrified,” Yuuri admits. It's the first time he's said it out loud. His family is too excited for him to come home, and Celestino, while a great coach, isn't always sensitive about things like this. 

Phichit runs his fingers in Yuuri's hair, which is still cool and damp to the touch, and smiles. 

“No matter what happens, you're going to be okay.” 

“I...” Yuuri trails off and licks his lips. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do now.” 

“Just do whatever you feel will make you happy. Don't think about it too much.” 

“I... I don't know if I can make myself happy, Phichit-kun. I think maybe I got too used to you doing that for me.” 

Phichit laughs. “Give yourself more credit than that, Yuuri. You make me happy all the time. But you know that I'll never be more than a beep boop away when you do need me. That's a promise, redeemable whenever, wherever, until the end of time.” 

“Phichit-kun...” 

Phichit wipes a tear from Yuuri's cheek, and Yuuri marvels that he could even see it in the dark room. Or did he just reach out on a hunch? 

“Best friends forever, right?” 

Yuuri takes a deep breath, smelling the detergent on their linens and the soap on their skin. He exhales, and feels stronger. 

“Right.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have such a soft spot for Phichit, and for the friendship between these two, and I hope if we get a season two that we get more scenes that explore the dynamic they have. More than that, I hope you enjoyed my take on their friendship and how it might have bloomed; if you did, please let me know with a kudos or a comment!! And ried, I hope this is something close to what you were hoping for from this prompt !!
> 
> Find me elsewhere online on [twitter](http://twitter.com/haikyuutiie) and [tumblr](http://zahhaked.tumblr.com).


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